


Untitled smutfic

by SavioBriion



Category: The Bible
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavioBriion/pseuds/SavioBriion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael/Gabriel, NC17, 2010. Their first time together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled smutfic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: They're Biblical characters, but I roleplay Gabriel and a friend roleplays Michael and since they're a couple, I wrote this.

White sheets bunching up beneath Gabriel’s back, callused fingers skittering lightly over his skin, a warm chest pressed flush against his own, heated lips at the juncture of neck and jaw; every sensation is amplified, and he wants to give voice to this but all that comes out is a soft moan. Michael chuckles against his neck at the Messenger’s incoherence, the reverberation across moist skin making him shiver, and he touches his own lips to Michael’s hair, his cheek, nose, lips, any part of him he can reach, pressing as close as possible to his lover.

  Michael buries his hands in the soft down at the base of Gabriel’s large, blue-white wings, and Gabriel cries out, back arching off the bed as Michael’s fingers comb through the feathers. He reaches towards Michael’s own gold-tinted wings, losing himself in the softness and the musky smell near the roots, gasping as he feels Michael’s lips moving down his neck and chest, mouthing his love against pale skin, his own hands moving down to grip Michael’s broad shoulders. Michael’s wings curve around them, shielding them from the soft evening light, and Gabriel’s own wings join them in forming a soft canopy. He can smell the mingled scents of their wings, lavender and clouds and sandalwood and jasmine, a heady perfume that leaves him lightheaded.

  His lover is glowing, golden curls shining in the light of his halo, and Gabriel knows it is matched by his own halo; he could not hide it even if he wanted to, any more than he could hide his wings or keep the sun from rising, because his world has shrunk and spun out of his control. Shrunk to a bed and wings and himself and Michael, Michael’s smell, Michael’s eyes, Michael’s arms encasing him, Michael’s soft gasp and amused chuckle as Gabriel writhes, Michael’s lips sucking gently on his hipbone, Michael’s aura pulsing gently against his own. _Michael, Michael_ , _Michael_.

  Gabriel might have said that last part out loud, for Michael chuckles again, and he reaches down and tugs at Michael’s shoulders, pulling him up and kissing him deeply and murmuring, “I love you,” because it’s all he can say. That and “I want you,” which he does. It scares him a little, this new yet deep need to be as close to Michael as possible, this burning hunger for anything the other will give him, this warm desire pooling in his abdomen. He can see the remnants of awe and disbelief and wariness in Michael’s eyes, and kisses him again, one hand on Michael’s back and pulling him even closer, the inside of his knee moving lightly against the other seraph’s hip, trying to communicate what he still cannot say and banish that infernal blush.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Michael whispers.

  “You won’t. I trust you, Michael, and… and I want this, I want _you_.” More warmth floods his cheeks, mirrored by Michael’s, and then Michael’s hand is stroking his hip lightly before moving down, wrapping around the effort he’d never made until now, and a hiccoughing gasp escapes him as he arches into that touch, craving more. He manages to open his eyes to find Michael gazing down at him, and the indescribable look on his face, in his eyes, leaves Gabriel speechless for a moment; then Michael moves his hand again and Gabriel cries out, his own hand moving down now to reciprocate.

  Gabriel has heard a lot of prayers directed to himself, but the way Michael chokes out his true name tugs at his essence like nothing else. His back curves gracefully off the sheets as Michael’s hand moves faster, then the warmth suddenly disappears and he makes a small noise of protest, which quickly changes into an incoherent _Nnngh_ as slick fingers quest between his legs. His fingers are clutching the sheets so tightly it will be a miracle if they don’t rip, teeth pressing into his lower lip at the first finger’s entrance.

  Michael is slow and achingly gentle – where did the Warrior learn such softness? - and Gabriel is grateful for it, because the pain-pleasure is like nothing he’d ever imagined, but he finds himself pleading with Michael not to stop, and he doesn’t. How could he ever have imagined this to be a Sin?

 Warm breath ghosts over Gabriel’s face as Michael asks, “Are you sure?” and he nods, trying to remember how to breathe. Michael kisses him then, swallowing his cry as the fingers are replaced by something rather bigger, and his knuckles are white against the sheets. He slowly exhales, as Michael peppers his face and neck with soft kisses and asks him if he’s okay; he nods again, not trusting his voice, as the discomfort ebbs, but a small sound escapes nonetheless. Michael strokes him, and this time the cry is of pleasure as he begins to move. _Michael_ , and he does not know if he said it aloud or not, because speech and even thought seem to have left him. His fingers leave the sheets, gripping Michael’s back instead, blunt nails digging in and leaving little crescent-shaped indentations that Michael barely seems to notice.

  With each thrust, gasps and moans and half-formed pleas escape him, and he can hear Michael repeating his name over and over again like a desperate mantra, and a firm grip is enclosing him. He is utterly lost, swept away by this flood of new sensations; a small part of his mind vaguely notes that both their halos are intensifying and that Michael is moving faster. The pleasure is building to a crescendo, sparking through every nerve in his body, and a name is wrung from him in the language older than Creation as he arches off the bed, climaxing hard.

 “ _Mîkhā'ēl._ ” And warmth spills between their bodies, Gabriel still shuddering from the sheer intensity of it. The look on Gabriel’s face, the tightening of his body, and, mostly, his true name being uttered in such a way pushes Michael over the edge as well; a few more quick thrusts and he comes apart, spilling within Gabriel, crying out Gabriel’s true name as well.

 “ _Ga_ _ḇrî’ēl_!” and Gabriel shivers, knowing that _he_ is the reason for the pleasure that contorts Michael’s features. Then the Warrior collapses, lying partly on him, and he is too boneless to protest – not that he would have wanted to.

 For a moment, they just lie there, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Slowly Gabriel finds the strength to raise his head, pressing a light kiss to Michael’s lips before kissing his neck and licking away the sweat pooled in his collarbone. _I’m the reason for that._ Michael shifts, rolling off him and to the side, and pulls Gabriel close, kissing down his forehead and nose before kissing him slowly and deeply, one hand rubbing his back. He finally pulls back, a questioning look in his eyes, and his lips part and Gabriel doesn’t want him to ask if he hurt him or if he’s okay.  So he kisses those lips again, and murmurs against them, “I love you. And that was…,” but he shakes his head, smiling, unable to find the right words, and kisses him again. Only Michael can reduce the Divine Messenger to this state of incoherence, and Gabriel loves it.

  “Love you too, Gabriel,” Michael responds, nuzzling his jaw. “So much. Always have.” Even after what they’ve just done, he still looks like he’s afraid he’ll wake up any minute, and Gabriel sighs before snuggling closer and pulling the sheets up. Michael’s blue eyes are already beginning to droop, and he stifles a yawn. It must be contagious, because Gabriel has to stifle one too, and he laughs.

  There’s a storm building outside, but beneath their feathery bower it is still light and cool, and they shift positions slightly before settling down. Michael presses one last kiss to Gabriel’s forehead, and the shorter seraph leans into the touch.

“G’night, Gabe.”

“Gab _riel_.”

“ _Gabriel_. Sorry.” He presses his nose into Gabriel’s hair, inhaling deeply, and Gabriel squirms a bit, but he’s smiling, and he thinks that Michael’s shoulder is far more comfortable than the pillow.

  The bed is soft, Michael’s breathing even, and their sweat is cooling on their skin. Gabriel is still aware of every sensation, but in a pleasantly relaxed way. He shuts his eyes.


End file.
